"Why, the last—the one to Leipzig."
"Ah, of course! Yes, I was very glad. I read it in your cousin's flat. I had just been showing him—oh, Helen! That reminds me—darling, I have something to show you! Such a jolly treasure—such a surprise! I left it in the hall. Would you like me to fetch it?"
He loosed his arms and she withdrew from them, looking up into his glowing face.
"Yes, Ronnie," she said. "Why, certainly. Do fetch it."
He rushed off into the hall. He fumbled eagerly with the buckles of the canvas bag. It had never taken so long, to draw the precious Infant forth.
He held it up to the hall lights. He wanted to make sure that it was really as brown and as beautiful as it had always seemed to him.
Yes, it was as richly brown as the darkest horse-chestnut you ever saw in a bursting bur!
He walked back into the sitting-room, carrying it proudly before him.
Helen had just lighted the spirit-lamp beneath the swinging kettle on the brass stand. Her face was rather white again.
"Here it is, Helen," he said. "The most beautiful 'cello you ever saw! It is one hundred and fifty years old. It was made at Prague. I paid a hundred and fifty pounds for it."